


A Heavy Black Ring of Iron

by beforethequeen



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 13:03:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12841743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beforethequeen/pseuds/beforethequeen
Summary: GladNoct Week Day 1: Gladio sees Noctis use the Ring.Gladio manages to wrench an arm from Noctis' chest and finds the thing Noctis is cradling is his own left hand, a heavy black ring of iron surrounding his fourth finger. It’s the Ring of Lucii and twelve-year-old Noctis should absolutely not be wearing it.





	A Heavy Black Ring of Iron

The book Gladio was leafing through falls to the floor, forgotten in an instant at the choked sound of Noctis struggling to breathe. He turns and finds Noctis fallen to the floor of Regis’ bedroom, convulsing and clutching his hands to his chest.

Gladio is by his side immediately, kneeling on the floor and trying to find the damage, eyes racing over every inch of him, pulling at his wrists to find the source of the pain. Noctis’ eyes are squeezed shut tight, jaw clenched, shoulders hunched around the pain he’s fighting.

Noctis is deceptively strong like this; Gladio can hardly move him.

Gladio manages to wrench an arm from his chest and finds the thing Noctis is cradling is his left hand, a heavy black ring of iron surrounding his fourth finger. It’s the Ring of Lucii and twelve-year-old Noctis should absolutely not be wearing it.

“What the fuck-”

Gladio goes first to anger.

“What the fuck, Noct? Why did you put this on?!”

Noctis is not responding, does not even seem like he can hear Gladio, his face still scrunched against him. 

“ _Titan, Ramuh, Shiva_. Come on, Noct. Give me something.”

Gladio grabs his shoulders, but Noctis just curls up more, rolling away from him.

Gladio swears and clamors to the other side of his body. He crouches, looking Noctis over, trying to assess the situation.

The ring is hurting Noctis. His entire left hand is pale and purple with visible veins under ghost white skin.

Gladio has gone through every emergency training hundreds of times. He knows what to do if Noct has a seizure, if he is shot, if he chokes on his dinner at a Gala, Gladio knows every situation and how to help Noctis out of it, but no one taught Gladio how to save Noctis from his own power. Gladio knows the power of the ring, he knows the mystical strength of the Crystal, and he understands that there are times when the Crystal will overwhelm Noctis, no one ever told him how to stop it.

“What were you thinking?” He growls, finally prying the ring hand away from Noctis and holding it in his own big hands. He knows he shouldn’t remove the ring. Thousands of stories of Lucians past tell him the ring carries a powerful magic. But. 

Gladio grabs the black metal and refuses to flinches away when he finds the ring brands him with a sharp burn. It is meant to ward off foreign hands. He grips it tighter, ready to pull. He can't. He shouldn't.

Gladio thumbs over his thin wrist. He is relieved to feel the weak pulse throbbing beneath the mottled skin.

Noctis whimpers, his eyelids flickering and Gladio touches his cheekbone to find him cold. “Look at me, Noct.”

He doesn’t. Noctis seems like he is somewhere else. Gladio doesn’t know what to do but keep him on his side and hold his ring bearing hand, cradling the small cold bony hand in his own larger grip. His prince is injured. Noctis got hurt right under Gladio’s nose and Gladio didn’t even see it coming.

This is the first test of his duty as Shield. It’s just Noctis and Gladio in Regis’ bed chambers in the Citadel, there is no one to witness. Gladio does not realize he is yelling for help until Noctis’ eyes snap open to reveal pink irises. Gladio loses his breath.

Noctis looks right through him, staring straight ahead, and Gladio regrips his face. He doesn’t know what to do but steady him,watch him, and hold his shaking hand. The ring burns where it touches Gladio’s skin, but he does not relent.

“Noct, Noctis, come on, kid.”

Worse than stepping in when he finds some neighborhood bullies tossing harsh words at Noctis, or disgruntled adults shouting ignorance at him for the doings of the Citadel, this is physical and it’s magical. Gladio has not touched a lick of Noctis’ magic training. His own teacher tells him one day Noctis will warp around the spar mat, but all Gladio deals with are wooden swords and wrapped hands and bare feet.

Pink irises were legends in the tales he read. Pink irises are the sign of the Astrals. Gladio wonders if the reason Noctis cannot see Gladio is because he is seeing the Six. Are they speaking to him? Gladio grips his hand tighter.

Noctis’ eyes roll back and Gladio pushes the short bangs off his damp forehead. “Noct,” He whispers, ready to stand and get help, but he can’t will himself to let go of Noctis’ hand. He won’t leave him.

“D-Don’t.”

Gladio leans forward, tips Noctis’ head back and studies his face. “Noct?”

“Don’t tell m-my dad.”

Gladio sighs and combs his fingers through Noctis’ sweaty hair. Noctis leans his warm face in his hand. He is no longer sure which one of them is shaking.

“What were you thinking,” Gladio says. It isn’t a question.

Noctis frowns, but he looks better, the color returning to his light olive skin. 

Noctis flexes his hand in Gladio’s grip and Gladio holds it up between them. “Think I can take this off?”

Noctis whines and hooks a trembling hand over Gladio’s elbow. “Probably. Don’t hear ’em anymore.”

“Hear what?”

He doesn’t answer, instead reaches his finger toward Gladio so his Shield gingerly removes the ring, placing it in the cigar box on the bedside table where Noctis found it. He closes the box. He already feels better for having removed it from their sights.

“We should probably get out of here,” Gladio says, eyeing the door.

“You’re not going to tell my dad?”

“Only if you promise to not do anything so stupid again.”

“Promise.”

“Good.”

“But.”

“Not buts.”

“But if you were a good Shield you would have stopped me from putting it on.”

Gladio frowns in disappointment, making Noctis let out a weak chuckle.

“Sorry, sorry,” Noctis smiles. “But I can’t believe you’re still holding me.”

Holding him, he is. Gladio still has a hand on Noctis’ face and another rubbing a thumb over Noctis’ bruised knuckle. It would seem rude to drop his hold now, and in the light of their near miss, Noctis feels fragile in his grip. It is not time to let him go. Gladio doesn’t relent, instead raises his eyebrows at Noct. “What of it?”

Noctis flushes, not expecting that response.

“Here’s a secret _you’re_ gonna keep for _me_ ,” Gladio bargains. “I’m gonna take you to the arcade and you’re gonna tell Iggy and your dad and whoever else that you had a rough practice and I kicked your ass on the mat but you got some solid hits in.”

Noctis’ face brightens. “No practice today?”

“Just for today.”

Gladio squeezes the hand in his grip. His pulse has regulated. If not for the purple mottling surrounding the thin white band of skin where the ring sat, he would seem normal. When Gladio helps him to his feet, he finds that Noctis can only hold his weight if he leans on Gladio. He doesn’t mind. Gladio grips his warm little hip and walks him carefully out of the room.

-

This time, Gladio knows Noctis will don the ring and he is is still not able to catch him. 

The daemons are approaching and Gladio is still on his knees watching Noctis ascend the stairs to the Citadel, only thirty floors down from the first time Gladio watched Noctis wear the power of his ancestors. This time, Noctis only stumbles, catches himself on the steps, and continues climbing. Gladio stays on his knees watching him, taking in every inch of his mystical powerful little king, returned from ten years of sleep, ready to bring the light back to the world. 

Gladio knows he has sculpted the Fighter in Noctis, but The Chosen One is beyond Gladio’s reach, cultivated in audience with the Astrals and sent back to Eos to fulfill a destiny Gladio always hopefully denied. He can see the glint of the glint as the King leaves him for the second time. 

-

It is warm today, the hot rays burn through their heavy black clothes. Under the weight of the cape, Noctis lifts a hand, the colorless Crystal blinding white with the reflection of the sun. He aims his hands to the sky, his fingers outstretched.

For the first time, Gladio is there to catch him as Noctis stumbles under the power of the ring. He holds Noctis around the waist and leans him against him. They forewent the cane in a fit of optimism, but Gladio will gladly be Noctis’ support as his Risen King rebuilds the walls that surround their ruined home. Noctis ages under the burden of the Crystal, as his father did.

Like the first time, it is just the two of them alone, but this time the fear has been muted in Gladio. He has seen Noctis use the ring for wondrous things, to bring himself back to life, to bring the stars back into the sky, to banish the daemons from Eos and return hope and peace to their world. Still, Gladio holds him tight.

When Noctis’ hand starts to waver under the weight of the ring, Gladio holds up his wrist, his little King enveloped in his arms and entrusting him with his balance. Though Noctis was given the power of the Astrals to wear on his aging body, Gladio will never let him go it alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy GladNoct Week, everyone!


End file.
